


Through Her Eyes

by hisorako



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Gen, Trauma, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 15:49:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2513240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisorako/pseuds/hisorako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years have passed, but even time cannot obliterate the trauma Fitz's brain underwent as a result of hypoxia. He's never been the same. Not since he and Simmons got married. Not since their daughter was born.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through Her Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my excellent (and my first-ever) beta overtherainbow35 on tumblr, who stepped up when I needed someone.
> 
> Also dedicated to the platonic Fitz to my Simmons, for having always been the one by my side, even when everyone else has given up on me. I stay up late at night to talk to you, and you wake up early and skip showers to call me. We live a world away, but we're closer to each other than the people between us.

“Fitz. It'll all be fine.”

 

“I don’t know, Jemma!”

 

A little girl, their little girl, whose eyes are the colour of  coffee and deep with intelligence and whose hair is a light brown and curls at the bottom, watches, petrified. She’s biting her lip, holding her hands over her ears, silently pleading with them to stop it.

 

It’s another one of her father’s relapses. One night before bed, she’d asked her mother what made him like that - all angry and unreasonable and volatile - when he’s usually so kind and intelligent and logical, and her mum had tried her best to explain it to her. Oh, sweetie, it simply happens. There was something that happened, a good long while before you were born, and it changed him. It hurt his brain and made it difficult for him to communicate. It frustrates him, not having his words.

 

She always knows where to hide when he’s having one of his fits. In a silly, absurd way, the thought almost makes her want to break into giggles. Because he’s always having these fits and his name is Fitz. It’s hers, too, of course, only hers is Fitz-Simmons (but secretly her parents have always spelt it FitzSimmons). These tantrums - or whatever she ought to call them - scare her. They’re worse than the ghost stories her classmates always indulge in at bonfires. Because they’re real. And they’re hers.

 

She’s always been a bit odd. Too bright for what everyone calls _regular school_ (though it’s really not), and too something else as well. Maybe it’s the part of her that has always messed up at simple spelling tests (because she’s always spelt _savour_ and _centre_ that way and everyone always tells her that she’s wrong, that _spelt_ isn’t a real word but that  _spelled_ is). Maybe it’s the part that sounds funny when she speaks, because her accent isn’t properly American; no, it’s some strange mish-mash of Yorkshire, Glaswegian, and Midwest American instead.

 

But they’re all gifts from her parents, all their oddities culminating in a single being. And, far from hating them for it, she loves them. When her dad and mum bring her along to the lab. When they complete each other’s sentences. When they give each other the best ideas. Even when her father is screaming and throwing and stomping. Even when her mother is crying and soothing and compromising.

 

Because this is her family, and she’ll always love them.

 


End file.
